


Fractured Echoes

by DesertRaven



Series: O Discordia [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mind the spoiler tags, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Patch 5.4: Futures Rewritten Spoilers, Sexual Content, Smoking, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertRaven/pseuds/DesertRaven
Summary: The journey of one Rhela Hatasashi, Warrior of Light. A collection of snips and one-shots throughout canon.
Series: O Discordia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069481
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	1. Index

This is planned to be my collection of all my canon one-shots for one Warrior of Light, Rhela.

Note: I plan to clearly note each chapter with spoilers based on patch or side content and any relevant content warnings. Not sure how many chapters this will end up being, but I have Ideas.

* * *

**Chapter Guide**

**Two:** A Very Bad Thaumaturge - Rhela starts her journey in Ul'Dah, takes place in ARR

 **Three:** Spirited Away - Rhela, Yda, Papalymo, takes place in ARR

 **Four:** The Shoebill - **5.3 Spoilers** Fluffy nonsense, Rhela adopts a bird

 **Five:** Trust - **5.0 Spoilers** Post Rak’tika conversation with Emet-Selch

 **Six:** Ghost Story - **4.0 Spoilers** Mourning a loss

 **Seven:** Blessed With A Curse - **5.4 Spoilers** It never ends

 **Eight:** Oath Breaker - **5.0 Spoilers** Extinguishing the Last Light, Thancred & Rhela


	2. A Very Bad Thaumaturge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhela was not cut out to be a black mage

"So you see-"

There was a hesitant pause. They had forgotten her name.

"Rhela."

"Rhela. You have talents, to be sure. But they do not seem suited to this guild."

She nodded mutely. She had known this was coming. Her skills as a thaumaturge were not progressing, despite practice and her best efforts.

"Perhaps seek out the conjurers in Gridania, or the scholars in Limsa Lominsa?"

She nodded and mumbled a 'thank you', hurrying from the guild before the tears that had been threatening spilled over. On instinct, she raised her hand to shield her lavender eyes when she emerged into the harsh Ul'dahn light. A few stray tears escaped and she wiped at them angrily. It wasn't that she was that attached to being a thaumaturge, but to be turned away hurt a bit.

Dejectedly, she made her way through the streets back to the Quicksand. Momodi would probably give her work for a bit so she could save up the gil to travel, since she lacked both the social skills and the figure to get work at the Saucer. She supposed she could make her way between the cities on foot, too. There were little camps and towns along the way that she could stop in, she still had her staff and a few basic skills, it wasn’t as if she was helpless.

Rhela mounted the steps to the front doors, darting in behind a massive Roegadyn gladiator before the doors slammed in her face. The crowd inside was the usual mix, locals drinking, adventurers looking for work. She imagined each city probably had something similar, but the Quicksand felt like home. It would be hard to leave this behind.

Momodi was talking the ear off of some new adventurer when Rhela approached the counter, so she sat on one of the empty stools to wait. Eventually, they wandered off, looking overwhelmed.

“Rhela! How did it— oh, that bad?”

Rhela shrugged. “I was never very good at it anyway. They suggested I try the conjurer's guild.”

The Lalafellin woman started laughing and even though it was at her expense, it was contagious. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rhela. I’m sure you’d make a fine healer.”

She was still grinning. “Yeah, well. I can’t possibly be any worse at that than I was at thaumaturgy.”

Ul’dah had been home for years, she wasn’t sure she was ready to leave, but there was nothing really holding her here anymore. Her mother had passed, friends were few and far between thanks to her generally antisocial nature, and now that the guild had released her, she had no ties to cut. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t ever come back. If she was a good healer, she could probably find adventuring parties just about anywhere.

“When are you leaving? I’ll send word to Miounne in Gridania if you’d like. She runs the adventurer’s guild there.”

“Oh, I’m not sure. It will probably take me a while to get there, anyway. But that would be nice of you, Momodi, thank you.”

“Just don’t forget to come back and visit me every once in a while!”

Rhela was definitely going to miss this, and miss the desert most of all. She’d heard Gridania was deep in the forest, and she wondered what it would be like to have so many trees around. With a childhood spent in the port city of Kugane, and then her more recent years here, Rhela didn’t think she’d ever even seen a forest. She hoped she could afford some warmer clothes.


	3. Spirited Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylphs are terrifying, and Rhela makes one (1) friend

Rhela, Yda, and Papalymo sit crowded around one of the tables outside Buscarron's Druthers with several empty, and two full, pints between them. She and Yda have put down the majority, bored to tears waiting for news of the Sylphs. Absolutely terrifying little creatures, in her opinion.

She’s spent the majority of her time schlepping from place to place - Gridania, Ul’Dah, Limsa, always back to the Waking Sands - and has had little time to get to know her fellow Scions of the Seventh Dawn, she quite enjoys Yda’s company. The girl can almost drink Rhela under the table, which is quite a feat. Papalymo exists solely, near as she can tell, to keep Yda in check.

“Where are you from, Rhela?”

She shrugs at the Lalafel’s question. “Nowhere really. I spent my childhood in Kugane, in the Far East, and then moved to Ul’Dah when I was… ten, I think? Or eleven. Lived there until I moved to Gridania to join the conjurer’s guild.”

“Any family?”

She grimaces. He’s just trying to be polite, she knows, but she doesn’t do well with small talk. “My mom passed a few years back. It was just me and her.”

What she doesn’t add is that her mother was a companion to a merchant with a taste for exotics. That when he tired of her not long after bringing them to Ul’dah, he turned her out on the streets with nothing.

She takes a drink and then smiles at Yda, trying to turn the focus away from herself.

“What about you, Yda?”

“Oh, it’s just me, too, now. And the Scions, of course.”

“Well, cheers to found family, then.”

They toast and drink, and she’s about to put her drink down when she notices the other girl hasn’t stopped drinking. So she doesn’t either. Rhela has to hold back a laugh as they chug the rest of their pints down. Yes, she definitely likes Yda. Both mugs hit the table at the same time, and her laugh escapes.

“I‘ll get another round.”

“Yes, please!”

“Yda, don’t you think you’ve had plenty?” Papalymo eyes the empties on the table.

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

Rhela smiles, shaking her head. Papalymo is probably right though. They are supposed to be out here working. Even if she is scared of the Sylphs.


	4. The Shoebill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING:** 5.3 Spoilers Ahead
> 
> Fluffy nonsense, Rhela adopts a bird

The first time Rhela returned to her room at the Pendants and saw it, she screamed. That damned bird, perched on her windowsill looking at her with its head slightly cocked to one side. In response to her yell, it ruffled its feathers indignantly but it did not make a move to leave even when she tried to shoo it away.

“Not gonna leave me alone, huh?”

The shoebill just stared back at her. For a moment, she almost thought its eyes were a familiar gold. But that was silly, wasn’t it? Just wishful thinking. She set her pack on the table, rifling through until she found some of the meat she’d gotten from hunting in Lakeland.

“I’m not a culinarian, but you’re a bird so I suppose raw meat doesn’t bother you much.”

Rhela cut off a strip of the meat and held it out, but it just kept staring. Lazy thing. She shrugged and set the meat on a plate, leaving it on the table but pushing it over closer to the window. Her own fare was simple; jerky she’d brought from the Source and whatever raw vegetables she’d managed to scrounge from the Crystarium. She tried her hardest to ignore the bird as she ate, though it was near impossible.

The thing looked like it was stalking when it hopped off the window ledge and made its way to the table. The plate clattered noisily against its beak when it grabbed the meat. It pecked at her arm when the food was gone, clearly expecting more.

“Too good to get your own meals?”

The bird flapped its wings like it could understand her. Rhela chuckled as she cut more strips of meat and dumped them onto the plate. She was talking to a bird. She had well and truly lost her damn mind.

The thing was there when she went to bed, and was still there when she woke in the morning.

“I’m going home now. I was only here to check on Ryne.”

It shook its huge beak in response.

“Do you want to come with me? I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring you through the portal, but I guess we can try.”

When she opened the door to her room, it glided from the windowsill to follow her. Rhela hiked her pack up on her shoulder. Apparently, she was getting a new companion. The bird maintained its lazy demeanor, following her at a distance from the Pendants to the Tower steps.

“Rhela!”

She turned towards the familiar voice and saw Lyna crossing the plaza towards her, raising her hand in a wave.

“What is that thing?” The Viera gestured towards the bird, which clicked its beak in a manner that seemed decidedly insulted.

Rhela shrugged. “It’s a shoebill. Showed up in my room last night and won’t leave. I’m going to try to take it home.”

“Leaving already? It seems like you just got here.”

She gave an apologetic half-smile. Being here was difficult for her; too many negative associations.

“I won’t keep you. Please give my love to the Exarch.”

“Of course, Lyna.”

Rhela watched the Viera walk away. While her attachments to this shard had all but disappeared, she knew that the Scions and G’raha were more firmly anchored. They had spent much longer here than she had, G’raha had lived an entire lifetime among the people of Norvrandt. Lyna missed him. Ryne missed Thancred and Urianger terribly. Runar missed Y’shtola. It seemed only the Warrior of Darkness had not left someone behind.

Well, not someone she could visit. She sighed.

“Come on then, bird.” It pecked at her pack. “No, you can’t eat before we go through. I don’t know if birds can get sick and I don’t want to find out. If this works I’ll feed you when we get there.”

The Occular was much as they had left it. Books, papers, scrolls. Some day she would have to ask G’raha if he wanted her to bring anything back for him. He’d crystallized before she’d had a chance when they were here. The portal still functioned, humming with whatever life was in the Tower. Rhela leaned down to try to pick up the shoebill, but it flapped its wings to push her back.

“Well I’m sorry, but if you want to come I have to carry you. The portal only works for me.” The bird clicked its beak again. “Stay here if you want, then.”

She pressed her hand to the glass, which shifted under her touch and turned more liquid than solid. Before she could step through, she felt the press of the bird’s beak against her leg.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

She scooped it under one arm and almost laughed at how indignant it looked at being carried. Traveling through always left her stomach rolling, so she held her breath as she stepped through. Firm ground came up beneath her feet, along with the familiar strange aether of Mor Dhona. Much to her surprise, and delight, she realized, the bird was still under her arm.

“Hey! It worked!” She set the shoebill down and patted the top of its head. “Not too much further, bird.”

It was a ways back to Revenant’s Toll from here, and she wasn’t entirely sure if the bird would make the trip through the aether currents with her. She supposed she could use the walk to think of a name. “Bird” didn’t seem quite right, given how much personality the thing seemed to have. Was asking the bird its gender silly? 

Rhela shook her head at herself. This whole thing was silly. She fished some jerky from her pack and held it out. It was surprisingly gentle taking the food from her hand, given how big its beak was.

It trailed behind her as it had in the Crystarium, only deigning to move when she had gone a sufficient distance. It also seemed thoroughly disinterested when she had to stop to dispatch a few of the monsters that lurked in the Tower’s shadow.

“You just like to watch, huh?” It snapped its beak at her once, and again her mind tricked her into seeing that same gold. Even the way its wings curved looked like a pair of slumped shoulders. “I can’t very well use his name, can I? The Scions would have a fit.”

“Guess you’re stuck with Bird.” She quipped, sliding her gunblade back into its holster and resuming the trek to Revenant’s Toll.

Though by all rights it shouldn’t, that loss weighed heavily on her heart. Would likely continue to do so forever. As terrifying as he had been right before the end, she still had so many questions she never got the chance to ask. Hints of a life and a world long gone that he held the answers to.

“I miss him, Bird.” The shoebill glided along some distance behind her, if she turned her head she could see it from the corner of her eye. “He meant something to me. I’d like to think I meant something to him, too. My friends don’t really understand. I think maybe Y’shtola came the closest, but not… None of them saw him like I did, I don’t think. You’ll keep my secrets, won’t you, Bird?”

The shoebill, of course, said nothing.


	5. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.0 Spoilers - Post Rak’tika

Night in the Crystarium. Still a novelty for likely all of its residents, except perhaps the Scions, and even they have been in the First for long enough that the darkness feels strange. After dinner, Rhela procures a bottle of liquor and heads up the watchtower that looks out over Lakeland.

When had the drinking started? She doesn’t remember when it became an everyday thing. Maybe after Zenos. She leans against one of the wood beams, one leg dangling off the edge, and uncorks the bottle. The smoking definitely came from Baelsar. She smiles to herself as she pulls out her tobacco pouch, his, actually. It’s not a habit she indulges in frequently, although it’s become more often here. Too many stressors. Not the least of which is —

“Not celebrating with your friends?”

Speak of the devil.

Rhela sighs and turns to look up at the… Garlean? Ascian? She doesn’t know which is more appropriate.

“Emet-Selch. Can I help you?”

He lowers himself to sit beside her on the edge of the platform, close enough that she has to move her outstretched leg to make room for him, and rests his elbows on his knees. He says nothing, so she puts the end of the rolled cigarette between her lips and lifts her fingers to try to conjure a spark. The aether here is so thin that she can’t manipulate it without a focus and she curses under her breath as she pats her coat to try to find matches. Before she can come up with any, Emet-Selch extends his hand, flame dancing on his fingertips.

“Thanks.”

This is the most quiet she thinks she’s seen him since he introduced himself to them. No theatrics, no snide remarks. He just stares out into the night. Maybe it’s ancient memories dragged up from exploring in Rak’tika, or maybe he’s just tired. She knows she is. Rhela holds the bottle by the neck and nudges his shoulder with the base; he glances over out of the corner of his eye, but shakes his head when she offers it.

“Just gonna sit here in silence, huh?”

He watches her take a drag and exhale the smoke. “That can’t be good for your health, hero.”

“Nothing I do is good for my health. Let me enjoy my vices.”

“And what other vices does the Warrior of Darkness enjoy?”

“Mm. Smoking, drinking, sleeping with people I definitely shouldn’t.” He arches a brow at the last and she chuckles. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t an offer. Unless…” 

She’s probably joking. Maybe.

All of her emotions hit suddenly. Loneliness. Fear. Sadness. Exhaustion. Being the Warrior of Light two worlds is too much. Hells, being the Warrior of Light on *one* world was too much. It’s relentless. Always someone or something that needs saving. And for what? Death and destruction. Friends lost. She didn’t ask for this. Isn’t even sure she wants it any more, if she ever did.

“You know if you’re not going to talk to me you might as well leave me alone.”

“My dear you are positively pathetic.”

Rhela shrugs. Not much point arguing it, because it’s exactly how she feels at the moment. She aches down to her very bones, knows that the light is affecting her, and knows just as well that she has to keep going. There isn’t another way, or there isn’t time to find one.

If there was another way, the Exarch would have found it by now. He’s certainly had enough time to look for one.

“You could always stop. That would spare me the effort.”

Even if she wanted to, could she? Knowing that Hydaelyn is a primal, even if summoned with the best of intentions - weren’t they all, really - makes her question the nature of her actions. Is she tempered? Would she know if she was?

It would certainly explain a lot. The drive to keep going even when she wants nothing more than to stop, to break down. The quiet smiles and nods when she wants to scream at the Scions that there must be a better way. That she keeps coming back again and again, even when she wants to turn and run until she can’t run anymore.

Tempered.

Like him.

“I can’t.”

“More's the pity.”

She stubs her cigarette out on the sole of her boot. “Well, I should get back to my room before I do something terribly foolish, like get drunker and invite you to bed.” 

Rhela winks in response to his utterly flat expression as she stands, and he moves to do the same.

“Far be it from me to keep the Warrior of Darkness from her well deserved rest.” He holds his hand out, something small and metallic in his gloved palm. On instinct she reaches out to take it, and turns it in her fingers in front of her face. It’s definitely Garlean, but she can’t for the life of her figure out what it’s meant to do. Emet-Selch scoffs. “Honestly, hero. It’s a lighter. Since you seem to have trouble manipulating aether here.”

She blushes as he plucks the device from her hand and presses a button on the side, producing a flame at the top. The flame disappears when he lifts his finger from the button, and then he puts it back in her hand.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She slips the lighter in her pocket and turns to make her way back down the tower, but pauses and looks over her shoulder at him.

“You know, Emet-Selch, even though you’re an Ascian, I think I trust you. Like I know you, somehow.” Gods, she’s already drunk. “Isn’t that silly?”

He says nothing and disappears into the inky darkness of a portal. Rhela shrugs to herself and takes another drink. It’s definitely exceedingly risky to trust their enemy, but she has a feeling about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screech at me on Discord! [The Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


	6. Ghost Story

Rhela had liberated both Ala Mhigo and Doma, had brought hope to subjugated people, saved countless lives from being crushed under the machine of the Garlean Empire. So why didn’t she feel good about it?

She slipped out of the city well past dark, unarmed and too drunk to even consider flying, and made her way to the grave of her enemy. Her friend. She didn’t even feel the chill of the night air as she walked, single minded, to her destination. He wouldn’t have cared, she was sure, but she hated that they hadn’t even done his father the courtesy of sending his remains. No, the Prince of Garlemald had been interred in an unmarked grave, alone and far from home.

The moon was bright, illuminating the desert landscape, and she could hear the distant rumble of thunder from clouds on the horizon. She dropped into the dirt, leaning back against the sun-baked stones, and uncorked a fresh bottle of arak with her teeth. She would have preferred whiskey, but at this stage she was far from picky.

For what felt like an eternity, she just sat and drank and mourned. Aching from the loss of the one person who had seen her. Not the Warrior of Light, not the Champion of Eorzea. Truly seen her, in all her imperfect, fucked-up glory. The bottle was half gone when she pulled herself to her feet, resting her forehead on the lid of the tomb.

“Why did you do it?”

Would she have felt any different if he had died by her hand, rather than his own? She could see it, when she closed her eyes. The flash of steel, the spray of blood. Her, frozen, unable to even breathe as he bled out over the flowers. She was a healer, she should have done something. Tried to save him.

“I would have gone with you.”

_If you will accept me._ A cruel joke. She had accepted him, he had known she would before the words ever passed his lips. And he had taken the possibility from her. Left her alone and empty. Death was preferable to a world where he was not. Her tears fell silently.

“You left me.”

Fists hit stone.

“Selfish piece of shit.”

Her stomach turned, but she closed her hands tighter until her nails drew blood from her palms.

“How dare you, you bastard!”

There was no one to hear her scream into the night, no one to witness her fall to her knees and sob. Ugly, gasping cries. No one but her mourned the loss of the monster Zenos yae Galvus.

Rhela was so lost in her grief that she didn’t hear approaching footsteps until the person was nearly on top of her. She stumbled to her feet, wiping tears from her face angrily as she glared at the Ala Mhigan resistance fighter. No one else should have been out, not at this hour. So few knew whose grave it was.

“Do you believe the dead can hear you?”

She narrowed her eyes at the question, wondering how much he had witnessed.

“It seems a waste of energy.”

Though she did not recognize the voice, nor the individual, there was something familiar about the cadence of his words.

“I prefer to be alone.”

“The grave is empty.”

She blinked at him in stunned confusion. Why would it be empty? And more importantly, how did this stranger know? The lid sat firm, looking entirely undisturbed.

“Until next we meet, Eikon Slayer.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the man retreat, disappearing into the night as swiftly as he had appeared. She had the sudden sense that she had just seen a ghost.


	7. Blessed With A Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on tempering, untempering, and the unending battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.4 Patch Spoilers

A cure for tempering. Rhela should be happy. So many lives can be saved, so much needless death prevented. But all she feels is bitterness. Guilt. If they had tried harder, maybe there could have been another way. She wouldn’t carry the weight of so many deaths. 

_It wouldn’t have worked._ She tries to ignore the little voice in the back of her head. She saw how much it took for Alisaie to help Ga Bu, and he had only been half-tempered, and for such a short time. They never could have hoped to affect the sway of the oldest and most powerful of the primals. But she could have _tried_.

She pours everything into the fight with the Kobolds to stop them summoning Titian, taking more than her fair share of hits and dealing out damage at twice the rate of anyone else. The harder she fights, the less she has to feel. And they succeed, because with Hydaelyn’s _blessing_ she can’t fail.

The Kobold’s horror worms its way into her brain and her own rushes up to meet it, pulling her down into memories she’s done her best to ignore. Did Emet-Selch feel that way in his final moments? Elidibus? Would she experience the same realization when she met her end? Images flash in her mind and she’s spiraling into darkness so thick she feels like she’s suffocating in it. The ringing in her ears drowns out everything happening around her, until the crack of gunfire splits the air. She doesn’t even wait to see who’s still standing, just spins and rushes out of the cave, stumbling over her own feet in her desperation to reach fresh air.

Rhela falls on her hands and knees just outside, spilling the contents of her stomach. Acid burns her throat and tears sting in the corners of her eyes, head pounding as she struggles to catch her breath. 

“Rhela?” Alphinaud touches her shoulder as he comes around her side. She can hear the concern in his voice. “Are you alright?”

She sits up on her knees and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before wiping both hands on her pants. She nods, but she can’t bring herself to look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Here.” He starts to pull out his book, presumably to offer some kind of healing. As if that’s what she needs. As if fixing her body so she can charge into the next battle will make her alright. As if that’s not part of what’s breaking her down.

“I said, I’m fine,” she snarls, pushing herself to her feet again. He nods, she knows he doesn’t believe her. She isn’t fine, likely never will be again. But she doesn’t have a choice.

“Admiral! Something strange is afoot at the Floating City!”

And just like that, the next battle is calling.


	8. Oath Breaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.0 spoilers
> 
> CW: discussions of death

The light churns within her, lashing viciously against her soul. Rhela can feel herself cracking, coming apart at the seams trying to contain it. Death does not frighten her, but the light, the thought of what she might become, does. She stares up at the massive Talos, at the peak of Mt. Gulg and the swarm of sin eaters she will have to face.

She looks to where the others are gathered. Y’shtola knows she won’t make it, even if she won’t say anything. Urianger, too, most likely. The Exarch, with all his secrets, must know as well. And yet they would send her to her death. With a heavy sigh, Rhela makes her way to the group.

“Thancred? Do you have a moment?”

Of all the Scions she could confide in, of course she would get stuck with the one she’s the least comfortable with. They’ve never gotten along, and their time on the First has made it worse. But he’s the only one she can trust with this.

Her fellow gunbreaker looks wary, and she supposes he has every right to. Except as a necessity, she rarely spends time with him. Still, he follows her until they’re out of sight, and earshot, of the group, concealed behind a rise of stones.

“What is it?”

Rhela can’t even bring herself to meet his eye, not knowing how to begin to ask this of anyone, let alone someone whose relationship with her is tolerant at best.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me up there. The light is… it may be too much.”

He’s seen what happens when someone turns, as she has. Knows full well the threat they face. She draws a steadying breath.

“If the worst happens… if I start to turn, I want you to kill me first.”

Thancred’s heavy exhale is the only answer she gets for a long time. The wind whips across the bluff, bringing with it the bitter smell of this decaying world.

“Rhela…”

“Please, Thancred. You’re the only one I can trust to do this.”

She looks up at him then, but he scrubs his hand through his hair and looks up at the sky, at the glittering, primordial light.

“You can’t ask me—”

“No one else will do it!”

The desperate panic in her voice is obvious, and she immediately regrets having shouted. She can only hope no one else heard.

“They would all try to talk me out of it; they’ll try to save me. There is no cure for being a light warden, you know that as well as I do.”

If she turns, if her friends try to save her, she will kill all of them. The memories of Tesslen, Hominster Switch, the Ostall Imperative, are still fresh in her mind. No matter her feelings toward them, the betrayal that churns in her gut, she would not wish that fate on anyone. Better to have a contingency plan, even if that plan involves her death. She takes a hesitant step toward Thancred, eyes meeting his and begging silently for him to carry this burden with her.

“You’re the only— no one else will be strong enough.”

It isn’t physical strength he needs for this, though he certainly has that as well. He has fought by her side on this blighted shard and stood against all the other wardens with her, and she has never once had cause to doubt his ability. His face crumples, dissolving into something that looks like pain. He nods, resigned.

“Swear it.”

“I swear, Rhela. I will not let you hurt them.”

The conviction in his voice is enough. He cut to the heart of the matter without her having to say anything. Maybe they’re more alike than either of them has realized. Maybe that’s why they don’t get along. Questions for another time. She nods, both of them returning to their normal set expressions. Neither speaks as they return to join the others. There is nothing left to say.

When the time comes, she doesn’t get the chance to find out if he would have made good on his oath.


End file.
